The World Is Not Better Off Without You
by davidthesquirrel
Summary: MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE FANFICTION the band has problems
1. Part 1

Gerard whipped out a pair of skinny jeans from his drawer. Standing in his underwear, he shouted,

"Aha! So we meet again Monsieur Skinny Jeans! I shall win this battle!" He then proceeded to pull the black jeans onto his legs. Tripping on one of the pant legs, Gerard fell on his couch and grunted and cursed as he tried to pull them on. Meanwhile, outside of Gerard's room, a confused Mikey stood at the door listening to Gerard's curses at the so called "Monsieur Skinny Jeans", his hand paused in midair, ready to knock the door. He was going to ask to borrow one of Gerard's many cutoff tank tops but… he would ask later.

* * *

2 hours later, the concert began.

* * *

Frank was pulling on his skeleton gloves and cracking his knuckles, getting ready to go onstage before Ray was heard running up from behind.

"FRANKFRANKFRANKFRANKFRANK YOU HAVE A SPECIAL VISITOR!"

"…Where?" asked Frank.

"Here," Ray smiled as he pulled a small shrub out from behind his back adorned with a pirate captain's hat.

"Ray, what the fuck is that thing." Frank stood not amused at all by the small plant.

"It's CAPTAIN SHRUB!" exclaimed Ray. "Make Gerard introduce him onstage!"

"Ray… It's a shrub. With a hat."

"Exactly! PLEAAASSEE ASK HIM! PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!" Ray was on his knees. Frank rubbed the bridge of his nose, "… Fine"

"YAYYYY!"

* * *

Gerard was jumping up and down. Shaking his arms and legs out. Getting ready.

"Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. You're gonna be alright Gee. They all love you out there." He always talked to himself before he went onstage. He closed his eyes and listened to all the fans screaming. All of the sudden, Frank ran up full speed from behind Gerard and almost knocked him down.

""

"… I'm sorry, Frank, WHAT?" Gerard was appalled at the sudden burst of words(?) that came out of Frank's lips.

"Ray. Wants. You. To. Bring. Captain. Shrub. On. Stage. With. You."

"Frankie, it's literally a shrub with a captain's hat on…"

"I'm not blind Gerard, this wasn't my idea, it was Ray's."

"Dammit, Frank, I have no fucking idea what to do with this."

"Just wave it around and stuff. The fans love this kind of crap."

"… Ugh, fine."

* * *

Mikey stood on stage, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He thought, "I'm gonna mess up. I'm gonna mess up. I'm gonna mess up. I'm gonna mess up. You aren't good enough Mikey. You are anything but talented. You don't deserve to be in this band." His thoughts were interrupted when Frank started to play the first chords for "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)" The crowd exploded into wild cheers and screams. The lights turned on, full effects. Gerard was holding onto the mic on the stand with his left hand and in his right was… a shrub with a pirate captain's hat? Mikey was so confused. He shrugged away his thoughts and wonderings. He could ask about the weird shrub later. It was time to play.

* * *

"Well, if you wanted honesty that's all you had to say…" Gerard sang into the mic and before he knew it the song was over. He was pumped up.

"HOW ARE YOU BATTERY CITYY!" He screamed into the microphone. "I'D LIKE TO INTRODUCE YOU TO A LITTLE FRIEND OF MINE! CAPTAIN SHRUB! HE'S A VERY GOOD FRIEND AND WOULD LIKE TO HEAR YOU SCREAM FOR HIM!" The crown screamed even louder. Frank was right. The fans did like this crap.

The concert was over. Frank limped off stage. He had twisted his ankle as he had tried to get up off his back from playing on the ground. He thought to himself, "Man, the crown loved that shit about Captain Shrub..."

Where was Ray anyway? Frank searched/limped around for Ray until he found him passed out on a couch. He would talk to him later.

* * *

Mikey sat down on the couch with Ray passed out on it. "Mikey, you suck. You will never be as talented as any of the band members. You are only in this band because Gerard is in it. Stop trying, you fucking piece of shit," he thought. Ray started to toss and turn on the couch until he fell off with a thud.

"GROUNDHOGS!" he yelled. Mikey stared at him, perplexed.

"Dude, are you okay?" Mikey asked, genuinely concerned. Ray wasn't usually like this. He was usually the creative, quiet and reserved one. He'd never seen ray act like this before. Suddenly, Gerard walked up and crouched down next to the downed Toro.

"Hey, man, what the hell? A shrub?" Gerard said. Ray laughed, "Sorry, I was just so fucking stoned."

Gerard blew up,

"WHAT THE FUCK, MAN. YOU KNOW WE HAVE A RULE ON BEING STONED DURING CONCERTS!"

"Dude, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

Gerard stormed off to his dressing room.

* * *

Mikey slowly sat down on Gerard's couch in Gerard's dressing room. He didn't know where else to go. He placed his forehead in his hands as they rested on his awkward knees. "Leave me alone," he spoke quietly. "Leave me alone," he said louder this time. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" he screamed to himself. He punched the couch. Fat tears slid down his face. He whispered, "You worthless piece of shit. You are nothing. Nothing. No one loves you."

Meanwhile, outside of the dressing room, Gerard stood, head resting against the door. "Mikey…," he whispered. His slid his fingers down the door. He had heard every word. He wished he could do something, but he didn't. He walked away.

* * *

"Ray, I know there's something wrong," said Ray. The two guitarists sat next to each other, Frank facing Ray as Ray looked to the ground. Frank slipped off his gloved and began to pull a loose string off of one. Ray did not respond.

"You're supposed to be the responsible one. The one who's composed."

"I know, man, I just… I feel like no one likes me. None of the fans care. They all like Gerard: the good looking, sassy, amazing person he is. I'm just the ugly one in the background even though I work as hard as anyone here…"

"Ray, are you kidding me? Those badass solos you take are far beyond what I'm able to do! If you want my opinion as well as MANY of the other fans out there, you are the most TALENTED person in the band. You don't need to use drugs to make people think you're the cool crazy one. You are beautiful. The true fans out there love you for who you are and think the same. Don't feel this way, man. Everyone here loves you. Even if some ignorant "fans" think you ARE in the background, they are complete idiots. If you weren't in this band, we wouldn't be anywhere right now."

"Wow, Frank, thank you."

"No problem. I'm always here if you need me," Frank limped away and heard Ray yell in the distance, "Get some ice for your leg…" Frank smiled. Good old Ray.

* * *

Gerard had been in the bathroom stall for about an hour. His eyes stung from crying. "Mikey… Mikey. Mikey. Mikey. What's wrong…" His put his palms over his eyes. Minutes later, he looked at his palms to finds them black with a mixture of eyeliner and tears.

"What am I going to do? How could I have neglected this for so long? Gerard, you knew something was wrong. You just ignored it like everything was fine." He craved a drink. A nice shot of whiskey. Or two. "No, Gerard. Don't start this again. Please. You need to be there for Mikey," He thought to himself, hitting his head with both fists. When did Mikey start to feel this way?

* * *

_Gerard patted Mikey on the back as they walked off stage. _

_ "Great job, Mikey. You did awesome," Gerard complimented. Mikey looked into Gerard's eyes with an emotion Gerard just couldn't put a finger on. It wasn't pain, close, but more like… denial. Denial. Gerard shook off these thoughts and went to congratulate the other members of the band. _

_Hours later, the band piled into the van to get back on the road. The weather was hot and sticky as it always was back home in Jersey. Frank took his shirt off, catching Gerard's eye with his fit body, but something else fazed him. Mikey stepped up into the van trying to hide a wince as he made his way to his seat. His left calf had an enormous purple and blue bruise and almost seemed to be throbbing. Along with the bruise, he had a six inch long gash on the inside of his right arm_

"_Mikey! What happened to you!" exclaimed Gerard. Mikey responded, mumbling,_

"_Someone shut a door on my leg and I scratched my arm on a string post on my bass."_

"_You alright? You should get that arm wrapped up," Gerard suggested. Mikey didn't respond. Gerard stared at him for a couple seconds, scrutinizing the hurt look in his eyes._

* * *

Gerard knew something was wrong on that Jersey tour. Why had he neglected to do anything? What kind of older brother was he? His head swarmed with remorse and pain for his little brother. He stood up, wavering on his feet for a while and opened the bathroom stall door.

* * *

"I can't take it anymore. No more. Please. Stop. I don't want to be worthless. I don't want to be alone anymore," Mikey was breathing hard in Gerard's room, his shaking hands stroking his hair in a constant rhythm. Droplets of tears soaked into his jeans. He couldn't take it anymore. That little voice inside of his head told him horrible things. He would never be good enough. He was an unwanted piece of shit. He didn't deserve to live or belong to the band. He was a disgrace to Gerard. Suddenly, determination flooded his mind. He could not live on like this anymore. He wiped the tears from his eyes stood up and stumbled towards Gerard's bathroom. Opening the medicine cabinet, he found Gerard's razor lying parallel to the back of the cabinet. Mikey carefully picked up the razor with his quaking hands and somehow managed to intricately remove the blade. He lined the razor parallel to the back of the cabinet and shut it. He slowly walked back to the couch, caressing the blade in his hands, watching the artificial light reflect off of it. He sat down on the couch and pulled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

* * *

Gerard hesitated before he raised his hand to open the door. "Mikey was there for you when you went through all of that, you have to be there for him," he told himself under his breath. He gripped the handle of the door and turned it. He pushed open the door. As he looked around the room, Mikey's figure sat rigid on the couch. His shoulders were tense and trembling. Spots of red were splashed onto his favorite sweatshirt. His hands were shuddering and stiff, his fingers spread and fixed. Blood was flowing from the gashes on his wrists. In his hand was a red blade. Mikey slowly looked up at him, his eyes overflowing with pain and agony. Fear. "Gee…," his whispered, barely audible. Gerard stood appalled at the doorway choking in fear. The blood. Mikey's blood. Unable to breathe, Gerard staggered forward and went on his knees, his skinny jeans absorbing the blood on the floor. He grasped Mikey's shoulders and looked into his anxiety ridden eyes.

"I love you, Mikey," Gerard said, his voice cracking, tears flowing steadily down his face.


	2. Chapter 2

Frank heard Gerard's yells in the distance. Finally, he squinted to see Mikey being carried by Gerard, his head jerking back and forth with every step Gerard took. His eyes were closed. Blood dripped from Gerard's knees and from Mikey's wrists. Frank dropped his guitar he was holding, and ran over to Gerard. Mikey hung limply in his arms, crimson blood dripping from his lifeless fingers. One drop at a time.

Sirens screamed louder and louder as the ambulances came closer and closer. Mikey's wrists were inadequately wrapped by the paramedics, blood seeping through the cotton gauze. Gerard rode on the ambulance, Frank's arm around him, staring at his little brother's unconscious body. "It's my fault. All my fault. Why didn't I help him? YOU ARE A HORRIBLE HUMAN BEING." He burst out into tears, sobbing uncontrollably, hiccupping words of regret to Mikey. Frank held Gerard's head to his shoulder and placed his lips gently on Gerard's head. "It's not your fault, Gerard. No one could have known what was going to happen. Mikey loves you. He didn't do it because of you." Ray sat on the other side of the ambulance, hands on his head, eyes wide open with shock. Mikey…

Gerard sat on the corner of the stretcher Mikey was laid out on in the silent, white hospital. He brushed back some of Mikey's hair; it had been 2 weeks and 1 day. Mikey still had not awoken. He lost too much blood. He had seemed to have aged years in the short time. His eyes looked caved in and red, his face… was lifeless. He seemed to be a corpse. Gerard adjusted himself on the stretcher and reached his hand out and gripped Mikey's limp hand. He closed his eyes. Remorse and guilt flew around in his brain making him want a drink again. He shooed the thoughts away. Suddenly someone squeezed his hand back. Gerard's eyes flew open and glanced at his hand. Mikey's hand was gripping back. Really hard. "Ow!" Gerard exclaimed, not sure if in happiness or in pain. He stared at Mikey's face, slowly starting to regain life, like his soul was reviving. Mikey's lips subtly opened, exhaling a soft, delicate breath. Gerard grabbed Mikey's hand again, this time with both hands and squeezed. "You can do it Mikey." He whispered. Mikey opened his eyes, his light brown irises flickering in the light. He squinted, his eyes adjusting to the light and looked into Gerard's wide eyes.

"I love you, Gee."


	3. What Happened In Jersey

Mikey strode off stage, ignoring everyone, including Gerard, who had complimented him on his playing. He grabbed one of the beers Ray kept in a cooler for after the show. He placed his bass on one of the stands backstage and headed for the bathroom. He swung the bottle back and forth, his fingers barely gripping the sides of the cap. He kicked the door open and walked into the men's bathroom. He kicked the bathroom door open and made his way towards the stall furthest from the door and locked it behind him. He leaned against one of the stall's walls and popped the beer open with the corner of the door's lock. He took a long drink from the ice cold bottle and exhaled.

"You need to give this shit up," he spoke to himself. "You need to stop this bullshit." He finished the rest of the beer a little too quickly. Again, he let bottle slip so his fingertips were barely clinging to the mouth of it. He continued to converse with himself,

"You know for a fact you're only in this fucking band because of your brother, right?" He gripped the neck of the bottle in his fist. It was like he had two different personalities: his normal side, the original Mikey Way, and his alter ego, an all-negative side that always talked down to the original Mikey Way.

"Stop…" It couldn't be true. He was talented. Right…? His alter ego just laughed. It was a cruel, bitter laugh. A laugh Mikey could never have fathomed. The voice just kept spitting insults at Mikey. Then, in one sudden movement, he raised his hand with the beer bottle, and threw in on the ground. The barren bathroom echoed with the sound of clinking glass. Sharp green shards covered the floor in front of Mikey. His mind was empty. The voice was silenced; temporarily. He placed his foot on the broken glass. It crunched under his black boot. _**You are worthless.**_ No. Make it leave. Make it stop. Frustration and anger churned within Mikey. In rage, he kicked the bottom edge of the stall with the inside of his leg. He hit it with such force, he fell back. He back slid down the edge of the stall. His hand landed on the ground first, tiny spikes of glass digging into his palm. He sat on the ground. His leg was throbbing and his hand stung. He studied his palm and picked out the little shards of glass. Little spots of red rose from his hand.

"You are worthless. You are alone. You will never win. Give up." Mikey started to finger the little pieces of glass on the tile floor. He picked up a piece with a perfectly straight edge. He rubbed his thumb over the edge. It pierced his skin, leaving a paper cut liked mark on his thumb. This voice had lived inside of him for so long. It created his insecurity, his hopelessness, his depression. It destroyed his hope, his life, everything he loved. He also found that the only way to temporarily silence it was violence. Mikey remembered all the times Gerard had told their fans never to resort to violence. If only Gerard knew someone so close to him was destroying himself. Mikey flipped the glass in his hand for a while. _**Worthless.**_ Mikey rose the glass to his right arm.

"Leave. Leave. Leave. Please. Leave," he pleaded as he dragged the jagged glass from his wrist down to the inside of his elbow. He didn't dare look what he did to himself. He inhaled sharply and clutched his right arm, just below his shoulder. He clenched his jaw. He slowly stood up, back pressed again the wall. Finally, he relaxed. He let his arms go limp. The voice wouldn't bother him for a while now. Mikey smirked. He started to snicker. Then, his loud laughter filled the bathroom, bouncing off the walls and surrounding him in lunacy. Violence wasn't so bad. He stood there, smile slowly fading, staring at the patterns on the opposite wall, until he looked down at his arm. Blood had gently gushed out of his wound down the length of his arm. His hand was bright red and droplets of blood fell steadily off of his middle finger onto the white tile floor.

"Shit," he said, pulling out some toilet paper from the dispenser. He pressed the paper on his arm and wiped the blood from the floor.

~~~

Mikey climbed up the stairs of the band's van, trying to hide his limp from the bruise on his leg. He started to walk towards the back of the band but was stopped by Gerard.  
"Mikey what happened to you!" he exclaimed, referring to both of Mikey's injuries. Mikey mumbled,

"Someone shut a door on my leg and I scratched my arm on a string post on my bass."  
"You alright? You should get that arm wrapped up," Gerard suggested. Mikey said nothing and pushed past Gerard. Mikey sat in solitude in the back of the bus. He couldn't go on like this. He knew he couldn't.

**_Don't worry; I'll make sure you'll be gone soon. No more worries. No more cares._** The voice had won once again.


End file.
